Funeral and Fantasy

I went to the funeral of a client today.  I had been seeing her for about 5 years and felt quite close to her.  I find it pretty easy to like people, but I am slow to admire them.  I admired and respected her very much because she had the two qualities that mean the most to me.  First, she regularly took responsibility for her mistakes and did not blame others for them.  Sometimes I wished she would--she could be quite hard on herself.  Second, she worked to change those qualities she disliked.  She was one of the most creative trauma survivors I ever met, working through her pain through dreams, reading, writing, music, caring for others, and all the usual defenses.  It was as though the soul of da Vinci were born into the body of a bright, pretty, abused girl, and used all of her capacities to solve her problems. 

She looked like me and we often talked about feeling connected.  One way in which we were quite different was that she was completely intolerant of fantasy and pretending, while I need it to live--it's how I tolerate all the reality of working with traumatized people.  She wanted her reality to be of a high quality as well.  I have been wondering about that difference today.  I sat in the memorial chapel and looked at the photos, the crystal light fixtures, the tasteful golden drapes and wondered whether she would have liked it there.  The moment when I felt her presence was when the last speaker to approach the podium to speak about her was her oldest granddaughter, maybe 11 years old.  That was reality, and suited her soul fine.

I want to write about love and literature, and I seem to keep writing about death instead.  I suppose they aren't that different.

Autism Puzzle

Today I evaluated three children, two of whom were in the autistic spectrum.  I always enjoy these evaluations for two reasons.  First, these children tend to have wonderful parents who are creative, dedicated and willing to go to any lengths to make a difference for their children.  The mothers who I met today were no exception.  They were tired and spoke with feeling about how vigilant they have to be to ensure their children's safety.  They were eager to discuss new ways to help their children negotiate their worlds, and to minimize their suffering.  The second reason I enjoy these evaluations is for the puzzle-like quality of the child's symptoms.  They seem to be struggling to communicate but in code, which is fascinating to figure out.

It is particularly painful of course, to perceive the way these families suffer.  In Philadelphia there seem to be few resources for parents of autistic children, many fewer than in the neighboring counties.  I am thinking about what kind of support would be most helpful to them.  I hope to start a group for the parents in the next few months; we will figure out what is most helpful.

Myth and Story

I have been thinking a lot about whether women and men tell stories differently, and whether they love different kinds of stories.  Yesterday I went to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II and became aware that I was asking the wrong question.  The story was written by a woman and directed and produced by men and it was perfect.  It was stunning and perfect.  The story was complete, perfectly told and deeply satisfying.  It felt as though all of the magnificent Shakespeare-trained actors of the United Kingdom had joined all of their considerable talents to do this story right. 

There was no cheering finish, no fireworks.  Just exhaustion and the comfort of peace at the end.  It has me wondering why I waste my time with other kinds of stories, but how many stories are told with this much love and talent over the course of 10 years. I am silenced.

The Job of Young Girls

I believe that one of the functions of early adolescent girls in our culture is to perceive and love ideal males.  Carol Gilligan's studies have found that they are idealistic and strong.  I recall from my own experience, and have learned from my clients over the years that girls that age can perceive masculine ideals, and by perceiving the ideals, serve to make them real.  I am reminded of the line from The Philadelphia Story in which Seth Lord tells his daughter Tracy that the best guard a man can have against middle age is an adoring daughter. 

I have been thinking about this role of girls as I have been thinking about the energy flowing into and out of the vampire love story in the past few years.  I believe that one of the reasons for the dominance of these stories is that they are seeking both explicitly and implicitly to re-define masculinity for our culture, at least to re-define what women would like masculinity to be.  In a 1990 recording of a conversation between Deborah Tannen and Robert Bly at the 92nd Street Y in NYC, Bly talked about the Anita Hill hearings as a battle between the savagery of the old patriarchal man, hacking at Ms. Hill with their sharpened stones, and the ineffectuality of men who didn't know another way to be and so were weak and helpless.  Bly himself has famously worked hard to help men to know and support one another as they determine for themselves how to reclaim a masculinity that is organic for them.    Women have been struggling between a determination never to be property, to be controlled or to be second class again and a longing for strength in men, but strength that is not controlling.  The dilemmas that the characters in the vampire love stories struggle with seem to be exactly conflict.

In 2009 Entertainment Weekly did an issue about vampire movies, programs and literature, and included a list of the 20 Greatest Vampires (easily found at ew.com).  I bought and read all the books in the top twenty list.  All of them were written by women, and all but Anne Rice (mother of the genre) use a first person female protagonist who is choosing who and how to love.  I propose to explore each of these authors over the next few weeks in this blog.  They are: Laurell K. Hamilton (Anita Blake vampire hunger series), Charlaine Harris (Sookie Stackhouse series) Melissa De La Cruz (Blue Bloods series), and PC and Kristen Casts' House of Night Series.  The odd woman out is Stephanie Meyer and her Twilight series, which I also hope to explore.   I believe that each of them is explicitly considering what kind of man is best for a woman. 

Teen Trauma and Survival

It  has been common for adults to complain about children being too old for their ages.  A gynecologist told me that she believes that girls are maturing too fast because of the hormones in our diets.  Usually we consider these too mature kids as annoying or dangerous.  There are situations, however, in which they are heroic and insirational.

I frequently am asked to evaluate teenagers with trauma histories to determine their need for mental health treatment.  In the past few weeks I've been particularly surprised and impressed by young adolescents (11-13) who have insight and courage way past what is expected for their ages. It is rare for a kids to be glad to be removed from his or her home, even when they have been badly mistreated or neglected.  The few who are glad to be removed usually are older teens with successful involvement in other activities, such as school or art.  But in June I met much younger kids who were able to observe and speak about the circumstances of their lives with honesty and who chose to get "into the system" rather than stay in homes in which they were ill treated.  It sounds trite to compare such kids to Harry Potter, and they are unlikely to end up any where as enchanting as Hogwarts.  But they are kids who have somehow found a strength, and a goodness, that was not taught to them by example.  They find their qualities inside themselves. 

Death of the Big Men

I have been thinking about Clarence Clemmons and the meaning of his death.  The last time I saw the E Street Band play I was struck by how many middle aged, paunchy, grey haired fans there were there.  The roar that greeted Clarence was ecstatic in nature and I believe it was from the longing to, despite our aged shells, be alive, to feel cool, sexual and powerful again.  By granting us his presence, his music, his pleasure, Clarence allowed that we were all of that. 

The great psychologist Marion Woodman writes frequently about the meaning of the appearance of the Dark Madonna in the dreams of her analysands.  When the Black Woman appears it often means that the dreamer is blessed by connection to the Goddess, to her own body, to the Earth.  Somehow, the ecstasy we felt with Clarence is a counterpart of that connection.

Yesterday I learned that Rob Rinzler had died, found peacefully dead in an armchair in his home.  He was a high school/boarding school classmate of mine.  He, too, was a Big Man.  In school he was the cool, sarcastic, masculine presence my friends and I were honored to be noticed by.  In adulthood we became friends and he honored me with his confidence as he went through the vicissitudes of bariatric surgery.  He gave up all medications, had painful experiences, began to heal, became smaller and smaller.  At our 35th reunion he was The Big Man again; a classmate made us all buttons with a photo of him in his 17 year old hey day.  He told me that weekend of the reunion was the greatest of his life because he "got to be Rinzler again."

I do not know what killed him yet, but he, like Clarence, had had a stroke.  I have been thinking of something the great Father Martin used to say in his "Chalk Talk."  He stated that he believed that every time an addict died of his or her addiction, someone else got clean as a result.  I am preparing for my own bariatric surgery this summer and I am selfishly hoping that the deaths of the big men are going to bless me in my own search for recovery and new life.

I am sad.  I miss Rob already.  I cannot imagine the E Street Band without Clarence.  But I want to live.